Help
by Robby66
Summary: Both Max and Victoria type out secret, frustrating thoughts about each other, hopelessly lost in their passion for each other. They both need help. Cereal help. ONESHOT
1. Chapter 1

Victoria Chase. She has consumed my thoughts for the past few days, ever since I first saw her in Mr Jefferson's class. Just thinking about her, makes my heart flutter and constrict with pain, knowing that I'll never get close enough to her for her to even notice me. Though she is not without her flaws.

I love her sassy, witty comebacks which make me feel inferior to her yet in awe of her quick-thinking skills. I love her crisp tone and precise pronunciation of each word. There's just something about her clear phonetic pronunciation and sultry, song-like voice that makes me shiver with pleasure. It's like how most people talk in movies in the 1950's. People may find it weird. But I absolutely do not. I could just listen to her talk all day long.

She wears collared shirts, short skirts, leggings, and a nice pair of short heels to top it off. All of which are by no less, branded and probably signed by the designers themselves. Yet, I love the way she looks, the way her short skirt reveals her long silky legs despite her leggings and the way she looks so professional and poised with her collared shirts. Her pixie cut makes her appearance even more appealing, the boyish cut enhancing her rebel personality. It makes her more intriguing. She also never forgets to complete her ensemble with a lavender perfume, the smell making her more enticing than it is possible. She leaves her mark everywhere she goes, with her very subtle pervasive lavender smell. As if I'm not tortured enough.

Oh, and as if her fashionable style and language weren't enough, her facial features are the crème of the crop. Her pert nose, feminine luscious lips, soft cheekbones make me go all 'goo-goo gaga' every time I look at her.

I sound like a love-sick lunatic. I probably am.

But I can't help it.

Especially when I get a glance at her eyes. Her big, beautiful, slate-green eyes, which might deceive any innocent bystander that she's a well-mannered, obedient girl. But I know better, having seen the subtle yet blazing fire in them. If you were to even accidentally stand in her way, you would regret the day you were born (as cliché as it sounds, it's true). I'd give anything for her to look at me with her fury-filled eyes, even if I'd melt the moment she graced me a look. Anything is worth being noticed by her. Even now, my arms feel weak, typing this out, due to the pent-up longing I have for her. Describing it in words is hard, but it's nice to be able to break down and decipher the swirling storm raging in me, every time I see or even think about her.

I love how she built herself in a way that she made everyone fear and respect her at the same time. When she steps into a room, everyone immediately keeps their tones hushed, as if they could sense her aura without even looking up at her. That's her.

I love how she openly portrays her body by clubbing and dancing, hips swaying hypnotically, twirling and moving her hands up and down her body in the most sensual way. She knows how tempting she looks but she also knows how nobody, in their right mind, would advance upon her delirious state because of how they would feel like a dumb fool coming near her, disturbing the entrancing rhythm she's set her body in. It is this very sight. The sight of her letting her inhibitions out with the same carefreeness that only comes with the surety that no one is ever worthy enough to even brush against her. How can someone be this…godly?

But to be fair, she has her flaws too. Like her abrasive personality. She looks down on anyone who has any slight indication of a failure in any aspect of their life. This includes wealth, appearance, intelligence and morality. Though, a failure in morality would mean to be decently mannered in any aspect of life. If you're a bitch, congratulations, you are now qualified for the Vortex Club. However, if you're decently mild-mannered or religious, be prepared to get fucked, i.e be subjected to the brutal wrath of Victoria Chase. She is vicious, sly and cunning. She will stop at nothing to get what she wants, though she has already attained all that she wants at Blackwell Academy – status and popularity – so, what more can she want? Maybe she wants the whole school to be converted to hooliganism so that she can lord over everyone. Then i can be her right-hand man, and she'll actually notice me.

Okay, I think I've gone on too long. I sound like a love-sick sap, for gods' sake.

So, in summary, I would ascribe Victoria Chase to a lovely, but deadly trap. She lures you into her with her fashionable style, cult personality, wittiness and sensuality. Yet, one wrong step would put you under earth of 10 feet deep, with zero possibility of ever scratching the surface. She could be described as pandora's box, unleashing all evils once opened.

But, her portrayal of a feminine devil makes the vulnerable side of her even more precious and rare. If she expresses genuinity, compassion and kindness to you, you can be forever sure that you have died and are now an angel in heaven. Because, her expressing such values are so inexplicably rare that you must be an individual of heavenly qualities to be graced with them. Yet, it is this knowledge of her vulnerability that constricts my chest with such longing that I cannot bear to keep it in. I would collapse on the spot and probably be transported to a parallel universe, if she were to ever express such emotions to me, not that I'm worthy of it in any way. Can you imagine a slight lift of the right corner of her lips, which in essence, signifies a real, genuine smile?

NO.

Not in my world.

And yet, my thoughts about her persist, even with my pleadings with God or any other supernatural being, to make this madness stop. I even tried to talk to Kate, to absolve my sins (this sounds absurd but I was DESPERATE). She told me to meditate and read the Bible, of course. I tried, but after many years away from church, it felt foreign to me. Meditation didn't help too. I tried to think about plants, then it went to the colour green, then it went to Victoria's eyes. It was hopeless. Sigh. Now, I know how Warren feels. I should be kinder to him.

Well, all I can do now is to wish that maybe, just maybe, Victoria might have the slightest crush on me as I have on her. Tsk, who am I kidding?

On a side-note, I can't believe I wrote a whole fucking essay about HER. Of all the people. She's turned me into some literature poet. God...I AM hopeless. HELP.


	2. Chapter 2

Max fucking Caulfield. Of course, the universe would deem fit to match me with the most hipster loser ever, as my soulmate crush. Why the fuck do butterflies appear in my stomach when I see Max tuck a stray hair behind her ear? Or when she does something that's so like her dorky-self, like snorting through her nose when Warren makes some lame-ass puns as a pathetic show of impressing her? (fyi, I was NOT eavesdropping on them). Or when she suddenly stops and kneels, in the middle of a busy pathway, to capture a shot of a fluttering blue butterfly, and then blushes furiously because she almost got knocked down by the druggy skater boy? (fyi, I was NOT secretly observing them).

She's just so..different from everybody in this god-forsaken academy. She's like a fish out of water, a weird puzzle piece in a jigsaw puzzle. She doesn't fit. But somehow, she seems to attract a lot of attention and brings out the best in people, even if she doesn't do it for herself. For example, poor biblical Kate, who was such a quiet, insecure girl in the first lesson. But after meeting Max, and having a couple of tea sessions with her, Kate spoke out more in class, she seemed more bubbly, cheerful, and started talking to other loners in class, like Alyssa, and Stella. Like what the fuck. Is Max fucking Jesus or something? How the hell did this hipster transform Kate into some cheerleader? How did she make Alyssa grow big enough balls to snap back at me? She managed to cheat my social hierarchy system (that I created with my blood and sweat, mind you), and created this whole other, 'fairy and candy' system, where everybody is so fucking jolly, and everything is sunshine and rainbows, by just purely using her hipster charm.

I mean, I can see why her hipster charm works. The way she seems to look at you like you're a real genuine person; a person with a complicated life, and just goes along with you. I don't know if that makes sense. Probably not. I don't know how else to describe it. No judgement, pity or arrogance. Just shake her hand and you probably just made friends with Jesus. I can't believe I typed Jesus twice in this essay.

But, she is a dumbass for sure, because of how she sees herself as a person unworthy of attention, judging by her shy attitude crap. Sometimes, it makes me want to slap her out of it, to make her see herself for who she truly is, not the shell she portrays to the world. (well, that sounded cringey).

I realise that, she makes people feel special. Like how she attunes to you, cataloguing your likes and dislikes, and takes it very seriously. Like how she gave Kate a beautiful tea set as a birthday present and gave Alyssa some of her trashy rock albums as a random gesture of kindness. It's weird. And well, kinda impressive, in this day and age. She revived chivalry. She's like a knight in shining armour, who came to save everyone from 'Vicious Victoria' (that does have a nice ring to it), with her mysterious hipster charm. She can honestly charm my panties right off.

I mean, seriously, have you seen her bewitching doe eyes? They're so goddamn blue. Bright, guileless, blue eyes. It's akin to the Van Gogh's Starry Night. The way you can stare at it and fall off into the deep end of the sea. That's why I can't hold a complete conversation with her. I have to end it quickly with a snarky remark, or else I'll end up as a pile of goo on the floor. How pathetic.

I just wish she'd stop being so…Max-y. Like her terrible dancing.

Once, during a moment of insanity, I took a sneak peek at her since her room door was left ajar. It's not like I purposely did it.

There she was, drunk off her ass, swinging an empty beer bottle around, dancing in a little dorky dance, arms and legs unsynchronised, as if she never danced before in her life. It was definitely one of those 'jaw-dropping' moments in my life. Max being wild, free of her shyness, and in her element of dorkiness, was something of a rare sight. It made me feel privy to her true self, the self that she only showed to her closest friends. Strangely, I wanted to see more of it.

Now, every time I see her, I remember her little dorky dance, and secretly smile to myself. Oh Max.

If her dancing wasn't horrible enough, her sense of style would make me gag on the spot, if it wasn't for her dorkiness which, might be her only redeeming quality. A pink shirt, a hoodie, and some generic jeans, and poof! You've got Max Caulfield. Though, her simple outfits, do add to her general charm of innocence. And the fact that she doesn't care about what anyone thinks, to continue dressing in her plain clothes - even after my harsh (but necessary) fashion criticism - makes her admirable. She carves out her own pathway, and she doesn't notice people following in her steps. Like an oblivious Hercules. It makes me jealous; and in awe, of her.

Gosh, I can't believe I'm fangirling over Max! A retrograde hipster! But an endearing one, nevertheless, especially with her weird hipster language. Like if she sees something that amuses her, she'll say 'Wowzers' or 'That's cereal!'. That's so hipster, it's adorkable. Fuck me.

Max is cute. I'll give her that.

And bold.

And benevolent,

Not to mention her great photogenic camera eyes. Honestly, what else should there be?

Ugh. At the rate of absurdity I'm going at with my infatuation with Maxine, I might as well call Warren to date him.

Can anyone imagine this turn of events? Probably not. Not even in Max's darkest fantasies, given how innocent the little dork is. Honestly, I don't know what to do with myself, or how to maintain my 'Queen Bitch' façade in front of Max, with all the fucking butterflies in my stomach and my heart thudding in my chest, every time I see her. Thanks to my daily 'I hate Max Caulfield' mantras, I manage to look like the fashionable bully that I rightfully am, without once losing my composure in front of Max. I should win an Oscar for that.

Maybe, hopefully, Cupid would wake up from his hibernation and hit Maxine Caulfield with his gay-as-fuck arrow so that we all can live happily ever after and this gloom that's settled over me, ever since I realised my infatuation with Max, can finally disappear.

.

.

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_My chivalrous knight, can't you save me too?_


End file.
